“I remember you mentioning some of those things. Is it a distraction? When masterminds are in play, you can’t assume it’s a coincidence. If you’re doing something big and there’s a wrench in the works…”

She left the statement at that, open ended, inviting a response.

“It’s not out of the question.”

“Who do you know that would employ that kind of distraction?”

“Everyone? Any major player? Tattletale? If it’s a distraction, we could ignore it. Let it go, like how you guys ignored the media and focused on mourning.”

I was putting it forward as a hypothetical. I didn’t believe it, myself. We couldn’t ignore it, when it was potentially character assassination of a child.

There was a pause on the phone.

“Did I lose you?” I asked.

“I’m wrestling with a thought. Do you have others to call?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“You can hang up, and we’ll update you the moment we have any information that could help,” my mother said.

“I’m curious what that thought of yours was,” I said.

“I don’t want to butt my head in where it isn’t wanted. Unsolicited advice?”

I thought about it.

“I’ll take whatever advice I can get,” I said.

Below me, Sveta had arrived. I would have waved, but she wouldn’t have seen me. She pulled herself up to the fire escape, metal limbs clanging on metal slats, and then let herself inside.

“Don’t make the same mistake we did. If you’re trying to build something, defend the turf it’s founded on. Don’t let others decide what the narrative is. Don’t fight it—that’s the path of cowards and tyrants, and you don’t want to appear to be either of those things.”

“Ignore the rules? Go on the offensive?”

“Don’t give them ammunition. Do show you won’t fold.”

“It’s dangerous to do that, given the current climate.”

I expected argument, retort, elaboration.

“Yes,” she said. “It is.”

Only confirmation.

“Good luck,” she said. “We’re available if you need us.”

“Would you be willing to help with something that isn’t in the public eye? No backsplash if this all goes wrong.”

“What something?”

“Surveillance,” I said. “And for the record, it feels really weird to ask for my mom to conduct surveillance.”

“It felt weird to tell my fourteen-year-old daughter to break a man’s arm, once upon a time,” she said. “We adapt. I’ll do it, invite your dad, we’ll swap shifts.”

“I’ll email you the particulars,” I said.

We left it at that. The wind whipped at my hair and hood as I floated in the air.

I called the Paint Fumes team, not that that was their real name, but I had to call them something. Tempera was out. Fume Hood was in.